


to be or want to be

by sidewalks



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Dialogue Heavy, Happy Ending, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mpreg, Time Skips, a little bit of sex happens, again. not that much, like in their early 20s probably, oh woosan how i love you, side seongjoong but not that much, sort of? like just a little, thats the whole point of this it's rlly not subtle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 00:47:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18355163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidewalks/pseuds/sidewalks
Summary: San and Wooyoung and Wooyoung and San and a baby they're not prepared for.





	to be or want to be

**Author's Note:**

> i make no apologies for what this is so if you're not into pretty boys getting knocked up: best if you exit now, it's better for all of us

A lot of the time San feels like there’s a guest in their house, someone who never speaks and slips unseen through the rooms when they think he’s not around, leaving trails of evidence in its wake. Phantom sounds, water running in the pipes, a dent in the couch, pieces of paper left behind. He may not see it all the time but can never forget it’s there, in the form of a presence that effects everything he does, the way he moves, tints every thought.

When they do talk about it it usually ends in paralysis. The conversation would come to something difficult like money or the future and one of them would shut down at some point and then the conversation never finishes. San would prod too far and Wooyoung would resist, or Wooyoung would make a passing comment and San, tiptoeing like a bird around all his new sensitivities, would seem callous in his cautiousness. Wooyoung is terrified to jump to a decision and San is terrified to decide for them, so to navigate this horizon most of the conversations are internalized.

And he knows it’s not just him feeling trapped at an impasse, because he’s heard Wooyoung crying more often than his heart can bear, a fearful and regretful sound from a boy that once seemed to have no fear and no regrets. And San can’t do anything. Doesn’t know what to say or how to fix it so that everything will go back to the way it was. He tries, and then remembers that it can’t. Maybe for now, so that things will be good again for a few hours at a time, but after a few short months they’ll either be parents or not (San still isn't sure if he fears the Not more than the alternative because there's no way to know what that entails) and nothing will ever be the same again, no matter what happens.

All he can say for sure is that they were so happy before and now there’s the occasional fight and a constant tension and too many tears and this shadow over everything that’s making neither of them themselves.

That Wooyoung believes that San can forget and he can’t is why they’re arguing so much. It is too easy, Wooyoung reminds him, to want things to be normal when all of this is out of sight and out of mind and someone else’s problem. _His_ problem. San isn't the one who feels it changing his body. San isn't going to have to give birth just to decide to give it away, if that's what he decides. San isn't the one who feels like he's had all the responsibility of deciding thrust on him, partly because San doesn't feel like it's his call to make, but more importantly because San doesn't know what to do either.

So Wooyoung spends his days unable to forget and unable to decide and tearing himself up over this, and sometimes he ends up taking it out on San. For San, taking it is love. Taking it is how he says he's sorry for being entirely useless in making this any easier.

"What would you do if it was you?" Wooyoung asks over dinner. San is sure they've had this conversation before, but humors it anyways.

"I don't know."

"San." There's a pointedness to Wooyoung's tone. Wooyoung wants him to try harder, so he does.

San looks down at Wooyoung's belly, their baby. At a little over six months it seems to rest on his thighs when he sits down - perfectly round from this angle, like he's hiding a soup bowl beneath his shirt. He puts things on top of it sometimes when he's reclining on the couch. San tries to imagine his own body like that, the weight of it in his lap. He can't, but he tries. "Is it your baby? In this scenario."

Wooyoung shrugs. "Does it matter?" he asks through a mouth of Chinese food.

"If it's yours then that means I care what you think."

"Which means we're stuck again. Same as right now." He twirls the noodles around his plate. "And if it's not? What if you were single and you got pregnant by some random dude who died, like, immediately after he came inside you. Like, you didn't know his name. You just crawled off his dead body after sex and it's like, boom. Pregnant. What would you do?"

"Wooyoung, what the fuck." They both temporarily forget the conversation is serious to giggle at the thought. Wooyoung is so pretty when he laughs. "I guess… I guess in that situation I'd… but that doesn't make sense, though. You can't ask that because that's not the situation, because it isn't some dead guy's baby, it's mine."

"I'd give away the dead guy's baby in an instant. It's different knowing it's yours. But maybe it is harder for you to separate."

"Of course I can't. Look, the only reason we even have to think about this stuff is because of me-"

“It’s not your fault. It's no one’s fault.” Wooyoung cuts him off, talking again with his mouth full.

San studies him. It's so strange how much is the same when everything else in the world seems to have changed. Wooyoung's chipmunk cheeks full of noodles are still both as gross and endearing as always. “I don’t like thinking about our baby as a fault.”

“Yeah. Right.” Dinner now finished, Wooyoung moves to get up, which is slowly becoming an ordeal as he gets bigger.

“Let me take care of it.“ San tries to jump in, but Wooyoung just shakes his head.

“It’s okay.” Once he's on his feet he's fine. It's just the getting up that’s getting harder.

San wants things to be normal. Wooyoung takes time to stand up out of chairs now, which isn’t normal and is just another reminder of how everything is changing and will never be normal again. San still has that boundless energy that brought them both together and makes their friends call their relationship exhausting to be around. Wooyoung was always the crazy one and to have him turn from a ball of lightning to a pensive, docile version of himself is weird for San to watch.

He's still the same boy San fell in love with. He still laughs in a chirp like a squeaker toy, still talks twice as loudly as is necessary, but he’s careful now. He gently places himself into seats instead of throwing his body across the couch. He maintains a firm hand on San’s chest when they kiss to make sure he doesn’t press too close. He reads labels on food and avoids chemicals.

It's true that San doesn't think about these things.

San washes up while Wooyoung goes to bed, whispering an excuse about how much his back hurts and how he needs to lie down. San knows it's only half true and he should follow him, find a way to prod at him until he tells him what's really wrong, but that all seems kind of useless when there's nothing San could do anyways. So he scrubs at the plates and pretends that any of this is helping in any substantial way, and then he goes to find his boy.

In the bedroom, Wooyoung turns around as soon as San darkens the doorway. He's standing over by the wardrobe, one hand kneading at his lower back and one hand wiping at his cheek, like if San can't see what's happening nothing is wrong.

“You’re crying again.” It comes out more accusing than San wants it to. San doesn't even know why he says it until it's already out.

“It’s nothing. I'm just a little tired. I’m fine.” San knows better than to take offense at this tone. Wooyoung has a right to be short with him when he's upset, regardless of why he's upset.

“You’re not fine. We haven’t been fine for a long time.”

“But I’m telling you it’s nothing.”

“Fine. Don’t snap at me when I’m just trying to help.”

“How was that supposed to help? Pointing out the obvious like I didn’t realize? If you could have helped with anything I would have asked.” He doesn’t mean anything by it. San knows this. San is also too much on edge.

“Fuck, okay. Jesus. I’m sorry for trying.”

“Whatever. It's not like you could do anything.” But his voice breaks on the last syllable, his bottom lip pouts as he presses his mouth firm to stop it quivering, and when he speaks again his voice is so heartbreakingly small. "No one can do anything."

Wooyoung is upset for breaking and San knows he can be there, and for now it's all he can do.

With a tentative touch, San reaches out and pulls Wooyoung's hand away from his eyes so he can look into them. Tries to convey some of what he's feeling on his face, because words haven't been working so well these days, but he tries anyway: “I love you. So much. I know you know that.”

Wooyoung's eyes drift to the floor and stay there for a few long moments. "I'm so stressed, Sannie." he finally sobs out, and San takes that moment to capture him in his arms. He cradles Wooyoung's head in the crook of his shoulder and secures his fingers in his hair and he tries, with everything he has, to make that enough.

 

 

 

 

 

"I have never seen you this quiet in my life." Mingi says, and everyone laughs, ribbing Wooyoung playfully as he squirms away from their touches and closer to San's chest.

"So when I do talk I'm annoying and when I don't everyone's concerned. There's no fucking winning in this friend group."

"Just enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasts, guys." Seonghwa chides, playfully ruffling Wooyoung's hair with that parental touch that they all know means 'I love you and you know I tease but please talk to me if you need to'. Wooyoung grins back, a smile that comes too slowly, like he's forcing his face to move, and sticks around for just too long after. Content with this reaction, the others move on, but San can't. And so, when Mingi and Yeosang and Yunho head to the bar and Seonghwa takes this opportunity to pull Hongjoong into the bathroom, San turns around to grab onto Wooyoung's hands. His lips curve into a much more natural smile. God, he's so pretty.

"Mingi's right, though. Are you okay?"

Wooyoung's smile falters. “There's something I have to talk to you about. Um, not here. Later tonight.”

"Should I be worried?" San asks, only half joking. 

Wooyoung kisses him on the nose. "I love you. You’re perfect." He settles himself heavily on the edge of the booth, eyes hitting the floor.

He looks beautiful. He's always so beautiful and San still can't believe someone as stunning as Wooyoung even bothers with him. He's dressed nicely - every muscle in his athletic legs caught in tight jeans, the _insanely_ perfect ass that San worships with a religious reverence on full display - and his hair is moussed up and the little bit of shimmer in his eyeshadow makes him look like some kind of model, but his expression is tired, spent. He looks absent. The most confident boy in the world looks like he's wearing his body like a costume.

San wraps him in a hug and nuzzles his nose against his temple. "Seriously, you don’t have to stay if you’re not into it tonight. We should ditch the club and get chicken.”

“Don't worry about me.”

“Wooyoung, are you sick? Please tell me if you’re feeling sick.”

“I'm-" He cuts himself off with a deep breath, shaking his head. "Maybe I should go home. Sorry. I'm fine, I'm just not in the mood.”

“I'll go with you. We can talk about whatever it is on the way." "And I can snuggle you on the train because I missed you."

For a second it looks like Wooyoung's going to argue, but then he changes his mind - concerning in itself because Wooyoung always has something to argue about. "Yeah. We could do that."

They say their goodbyes to their friends. Maybe the rest of them think it's a silly thing, like they're going back to San's to have sex. Seonghwa seems to know, and he fixes San with a look that says 'take care of him or else', like San would even dream of doing anything else.

And for the most part once they leave the bar it's quiet. Quiet for the trip on the subway, pressed together in each other's arms, until they're a few blocks from Wooyoung's apartment. Reflections of neon signs light up the slick of water on the sidewalk. It reflects back onto Wooyoung's face, where he's still staring at the ground. The glow shines brightly in the rim of watery eyes.

"Can you tell me what's going on yet?" San prods.

“San, I…" Wooyoung begins to say, takes a steep inhale, which seems to shake a tear loose. He wipes it away and sighs the breath out. ”Never mind. It's nothing.”

“It’s not nothing but it’s okay if you don’t want to tell me. Let me know if I can help. I want to help.”

“It’s not nothing. San-” His voice chokes up, and San pulls him into a side-hug, guiding him down the street quickly towards the safety of home, tucked protectively in his arm if he needs to cry. There's little twists of panic in San's stomach, strange because he's almost never seen Wooyoung upset like this, but he can't let it show. He needs to be calm.

"As long as you're not breaking up with me you don’t have to say it now. We can talk later."

"I'm not breaking up with you." Wooyoung chuckles. It sounds wet, through tears.

"You're in love with someone else."

"Of course not, Sannie."

"You want us to invite Mingi the next time we fuck."

Wooyoung actually squawks with laughter, squinting out a few more tears that he wipes away with a tired grin.

“I love love love love love love you.” San says, a kiss on the cheek with every “love”. "Do you want me to stay?"

"Maybe later. Is that okay? If it's not too late. Would you come back if I called you in a couple hours or so?"

"Of course. Whatever's upsetting you, I want to do whatever I can to help."

"I love you. I'll text you." With the door closed, San gives up on trying to be strong, gives in to worry. He stands there on the steps for a moment, cold wind messing up his hair, cheeks conspicuously undimpled, trying to process. Caring for Wooyoung is so foreign to him. Wooyoung is younger but has always been a bit more mature. San is still very much a little kid and when the roles in their relationship are reversed he doesn't know what to do.

He holds the upset on his face for a minute or so, waiting for it to dissipate out of his fingertips, shakes his body out a little to expedite the process. When his jaw finally feels like it will unclench, he steps back into the street.

He's not in the mood to go back and meet up with their friends so he heads back towards the subway, towards the other side of town where he lives and has always hated that it's so far from Wooyoung. San has always liked trains, though, lets the chugging of wheels on the track relax him and the rush of people around him, flowing on and off of the car the way the tides flow in and out of the sand, he feels comfortable and at the same time very much alone.

And his phone buzzes and it’s Wooyoung, his contact a million hearts because of the way San's heart flutters with love every time he sees his name. And then he reads the message and it stops altogether.

_I'm pregnant. I'm sorry. I couldn't say it out loud._

 

 

 

 

This house is always a little bit too cold, even with the heat up as high as it can go. There's a draft or something like that, coming from the windows or the thin walls out to the hall, and chills are one of those things that pregnant Wooyoung has gotten sensitive to, so while he was fine walking around in bare feet just a few months before he now needs San's space-heater metabolism under a blanket with him on the couch to stave off cold toes. It's a circulation thing, maybe. At night he tends to get hot flashes.

It's their house now, of course. Wooyoung's apartment has become their apartment so they can save money and start working on their domestic skills and so San can take care of him, and to hell with San's parents who think they should be engaged before they move in together. That rule was always predicated on him not having sex until he was married, and Wooyoung's obvious pregnancy is pretty damning evidence that that rule has long been broken. (A grudging acceptance is all San's family has to offer their current situation. San made the decision not to apologize for it long ago, although his mother maintains that the only apologizing that really counts is the apologies he'll have to make to Jesus, and San doesn't really think Jesus has any right to care.)

Slow cuddling on the futon sofa becomes slow making out. San gets a not-at-all-subtle fingernail to the stomach if he leans too much weight on Wooyoung anywhere around the vicinity of his belly, so he's on his side for safety's sake, kissing around Wooyoung's cheek and jaw and basking in the warmth of his body, fingers kneading at the softness of his upper thighs.

It's good. Wooyoung is so pretty and pregnancy has only made him prettier: skin softer, hair shinier and eyelashes longer, even his lips look pinker. His body - straight up and down, thin but not skinny - is developing curves, and though the nearly-seven-month swell of his belly is the most obvious, San has free reign to explore the rest with his hands. His fingers find purchase on softer, subtly wider hips that still mold to his hands like they were made for each other. Since the first time they touched San has known they were perfectly matched. And it's times like this he feels silly for ever arguing with him, because if he's with someone this perfect, if he feels this good when they're together, if all his senses and thoughts are wrapped up in Wooyoung and he's happy, then there's nothing in the world that could be wrong with anything they do together.

The problem is that eventually they have to get up, and it's when Wooyoung is out of his sight that the negative thoughts come back. They can only be distracted for so long and when he comes back from the shower in the evening Wooyoung seems bothered, but San isn't really sure.

He was once fluent in the language of Wooyoung - from the inflections of his voice to the way he breathed in one mood or another - but the changes that come with pregnancy make it seem like he's speaking in a dialect, one that San will never fully understand.

"San, do you ever want to leave?” Wooyoung asks, in bed together at night with the lights already out, so quiet San can barely hear, and he lets a few heartbeats go by because he isn't sure at first that he heard it right.

“What do you mean?”

“Because you can. I won't hold it against you if you want to. I'm not trying to tie you down just in the chance I decide to keep the baby. Or if I do keep the baby and that’s not what you want. I need you to know you can… San?"

San feels like he’s being pulled underwater, under waves of panic and despair. He's aware of how hard he's breathing. All he can think about is the word _leave_ echoing over and over in his mind like something outside of him, screaming at him. San isn't good enough. San isn't doing enough. He doesn't deserve Wooyoung - he never has, he's always known that, but he never expected a moment like this to come, when he'd be confronted with it face to face. Wooyoung doesn't need him.

San has never felt so worthless, so impotent.

“Sannie?” Wooyoung's voice is more urgent, like he's pleading. He flips on the light, looks back to San with wide and desperate eyes. 

“How could I… why… do you not want me or something?” The light hurts. San might be sick. He can tell he's on the verge of screaming.

“No, baby, not at all. I fucked up, that’s not what I meant-“ He runs a hand down San's arm, and San tugs away, feeling acutely like he's about to pass out.

“Why would you think I would leave? I'd rather die, I don't want to lose you, I'd never want to leave you. Please don't tell me you don't want me because I don't know what I'll do if you don't want me because you're all I've ever wanted-"

“Sannie.” With his face caught between Wooyoung's hands, all San can do is breathe until the panic starts to fade and he gives in to Wooyoung's arms, clasped as tightly as possible with his belly in the way. “Shh, okay. I’m sorry. I shouldn't have said that. It’s okay. No one's asking you to leave. I love you. You're all I've ever wanted.”

The words seem to take forever to sink in. It takes him a while to calm down, even panting into Wooyoung's shoulder, the warm and familiar scent of him everywhere. Eventually, though, the hurt does start to fade. “You still love me."

"Always."

And now it's San's turn to cry, now that the emotional rollercoaster of this evening has sent his mind reeling. "I'm not leaving you. I would never."

“I know, Sannie." Wooyoung pulls back, staring at his folded hands. "I guess I got it in my head somehow that you don’t want this. Like, this is gonna ruin your life and you feel like you have to stay with me because you have to, like I’m locking you down or something. I just thought that I might be happier or less anxious if I knew you didn’t resent me, even if it meant breaking my heart or…”

“That I’d never be happy again because I would have lost the only person that matters to me and our baby. Wooyoung, this thing is making you fucking crazy.”

“Yeah, I get that now. I'm sorry. I was really fucking dumb to say that."

San lets out a sarcastic chuckle. "Yeah, you sort of were."

"Are you mad?"

"Whiplash. Ask me later." He settles back against the headboard. There's sweat in his hair at his temples.

"Can I trust you to be honest, though?" Wooyoung pipes up, reclining next to him on his side with one arm propped under his head, one draped over his belly. "Can I ask if you really want this kid or you're just gonna put up with it because you don't want us to break up?"

"I… don't know." San replies.

"Okay. I don't know either, just so you know. Like if I really want the kid or I’m just avoiding making a decision. I’m waiting for the moment I really fall in love with it but it’s not coming."

"I think it happens when you hold it for the first time. Right now it's kind of like an abstract thing."

"An abstract thing that’s elbowing me in the liver every five minutes."

San gives their baby a little nudge with his fingers. Wooyoung squirms away from his touch, not the baby. "Like something out of the Alien movie."

"Dude, what if I birth some kind of lizard thing?"

"That would be dope as hell and we both know it."

"Sometimes I'd rather it were some kind of alien lizard monster and not, like. You know. A part of me. A part of both of us." And therein lies both of their dilemmas, because no matter how San tries to conceptualize it it's still like releasing a part of his family to the wind, with a chance that he'll never find it again. "I tried to think about it like a tumor I'll have removed in a few weeks but it's not. This is my first baby, our first child and it's like, what am I if I just give it away?"

"Nothing less, Wooyoungie. Still you, and there'll be another chance for us be parents if we don't want to do it now."

"Yeah. That's the logical answer. But I think about it and I'm still sad." 

“Yeah. It sucks no matter what, I guess." San says, lying down on his side to face him with the full knowledge that it might be hours before he's relaxed enough to sleep. "But we can’t just shut down. We have to think about these things even though they fucking suck."

"I don't want to talk when I'm sad." Wooyoung murmurs, rolling ungracefully onto his back, and switches off the light again.

San's hand finds his in the sheets, and Wooyoung clasps him tight, and that's the way they stay. 

 

 

 

 

Wooyoung feels so good when San fucks him for the first time: hot skin, beads of sweat rolling down the backs of his thighs, warm ragged breaths and soft hair that San loses himself in as he comes in a sloppy premature mess of hormones and virginal anticipation that just makes Wooyoung laugh, that high-pitched twinkle that San loves even when it's directed at him.

San is nineteen and falling in love so fast it scares him sometimes, to the point where Wooyoung's beautiful face is the only thing on his mind and sex with him comes as almost an afterthought. In his hormonal teens he'd planned out the loss of his virginity and all the bells and whistles that would come with it. In real life it just sort of happens, a natural progression from kissing and cuddling on top of his sheets to an unignorably insistent heat between his legs from a little too much contact with Wooyoung's warm, soft skin. To tugging off each other's clothes and knocking a lamp off the side table in his haste to retrieve a condom his dad had left there years ago. Wooyoung, not a virgin, helps him figure it out. San has always been a quick learner.

After the first time (that monumental towering sublimity of a thing that was somehow less and a million times more than San had ever dreamed it to be) they start to do it all the time. And he learns Wooyoung faster - what the difference is between the breathy sighs and the deepest guttural moans, how to make tears come in a good way, how to hold off until Wooyoung comes first, his entire body tensing against him and then going weak as he's overcome. And sometime after the first dozen times or so San loses count. It blurs together. It becomes more of a part of his routine - yes, one he looks forward to immensely, but nothing worth writing in his diary about. He puts on his pants in the morning. He takes them off at night. He has sex with Wooyoung. Ordinary.

But there are some times that stick out in his memory. Times they'd stay up late into the night talking as they tested just how long it could last, times they'd stay in all day testing just how many times they could make each other come. The one and only time in their years of dating that Wooyoung topped. Ordinary mornings in the fall when the sun hits Wooyoung's face just so and they make love slowly and silently, never breaking eye contact, Wooyoung's hand never leaving San's cheek.

As San lies in bed now and thinks about how Wooyoung's stomach is beginning to swell between his hipbones not enough to be considered a bump yet but enough to make him have to unbutton his pants to sit down, as he thinks back to three months ago and what they were doing and what was going through their minds back then, he hopes it was one of those special times. He hopes they were so lost in each other that he needed Wooyoung like a drowning man needs air, so overcome with love and desire and multiple orgasms in one night that mundane things like contraceptives were so far out of his mind. He hopes that their baby wasn't conceived out of routine. San would rather be responsible for loving Wooyoung too much, wanting him too desperately, than to have Wooyoung get pregnant as the result of something as boring as a manufacturing defect in a condom.

San thinks he would rather be responsible than have this be the result of probability.

Wooyoung needs something to blame, on rough days when he convinces himself this is negative, and if it's San then San can make it up to him. Once, twice, a billion times over. For the rest of his life, if necessary. If Wooyoung is ever sad about it, even when they're 80 years old with no hair and liver spots and dementia so bad they barely remember what there is to be sad about, San will do what he can to make him feel better. And if San is sad?

If San is sad about it he has making Wooyoung happy to distract him.

 

 

 

 

 

"Before I started to really show I still had hope that it wasn't real." Wooyoung's hands are curved under his belly in front of the mirror like he's trying to carry some of its weight. "You know how you can drug test a false positive if you eat, like, poppy seeds? I was hoping it was like that."

San chuckles from the bed. Wooyoung's back arches so deeply to compensate. There's something beautiful about it. "So the constant nausea was your brain playing tricks on you? And the doctor who told you you were definitely 100% pregnant was having a psychotic break."

"I'm entitled to my crazy ideas, it's a symptom." He turns sideways, pushing his shirt up to his chest. "This is insane, though. I don't really like looking at it. Like, it's surreal. When I have clothes on it's easier to believe it's not this big. Like, for something that’s, like, growing inside me, my gut is huge."

“Can I…” San starts, moving to touch, to satiate this need he has for contact with the abstract thing that's been running their lives for the past few months.

“You’re allowed to touch me without asking.”

"Just making sure." San places both his hands just above Wooyoung's, arms looped around his sides. He presses in lightly with his fingertips and waits for what he knows is coming - a little pressure against his other hand, the baby gravitating away from the touch. "Our baby is the size of a small eggplant."

"For someone who barely eats vegetables, you really seem to like comparing this kid to them. Last week it was a zucchini." Wooyoung shifts his weight, wincing. "It’s moving like crazy, whatever you’re doing to it."

“It likes me.”

“It should. It’s your baby too.”

“Think it can hear us?" San asks, propping his chin up on Wooyoung's shoulder.

"Nah. It probably doesn't even have ears yet."

"Does too! It's a real baby now. It said on the app that its hands are strong enough to squeeze your finger."

"Oh." Wooyoung's lips twitch, the corners pulling into a hint of a smile.  And then he frowns, stepping out of San's touch, tugging his shirt back down over his belly. "Stop doing that."

"What?" San asks, indignant and unsure of what went wrong. Wooyoung sits down on the edge of the bed, hands folded in his lap.

"Making me feel things. Making me get invested."

"What's the problem with that? I thought you were waiting to fall in love with it."

"Because we still need to think rationally and I can't do that if I'm thinking about having a little San baby squeeze my finger." San can't help it. His heart pulls.

Sometimes he wants to scream. Maybe it's that he's trying so hard to see it from Wooyoung's perspective, that Wooyoung is obviously closer to this than he is and so while San has had to build this up in his head to the point of love, Wooyoung has had to hold himself back. Sometimes San can see the tension in him - the instinctive drive to love and cherish, the societal expectation to not, the hand that caresses his baby without thinking and is ripped away and shoved deep into his pockets when he realizes. 

"We should love our baby." San says definitively.

"And what about the side of us that knows we're too young to raise it right?"

The side of us that's going to have our hearts broken if we're not careful. He doesn't say it, but it's implied.

"We always say that but we never say why. What if that's just not true?"  “Look, I’ve always wanted to have kids and everything with you. I thought you wanted that too."

Wooyoung looks up, defiant. "Of course I do."

"What does it matter if it’s sooner than we thought?”

“It matters because-“

“Maybe I don't think it does. Maybe I'm having a hard time forcing myself to think of this as a bad thing because it's not a bad thing, and I don't think you should have to either.”

Wooyoung's lips part and close several times over, like he's fighting with different arguments in his mind. San waits in comfortable tension, moving closer to lean a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe it doesn’t. San, I-“

“It doesn’t. It doesn’t matter because fuck the world. Because I love you. You love me and I love you and we’re having a baby like we always said we would someday, except it’s not someday. We’re doing it now because it doesn’t fucking matter. We love each other and this is the family we always wanted to start except it's happening right now and it's gonna be amazing." San chokes up on the last word, tries to hide it, but Wooyoung's face splits into a grin.

"Stop crying, you dumb sentimental loser baby." he laughs, pulling him closer. "We’re still too young. We’re still gonna be shit at it no matter how much we love each other.”

“Like five, ten years will make us any less shit. Look at us, we’re crazy.” San is straddling his lap at this point, hands looped around the back of his neck and running over his hairline. It's getting long. Hormones make hair grow faster, and he hasn't wanted to deal with it, and San was too scared of scalping him the one time he asked for help. Against all odds, shaggy looks sexy. “Irresponsible. Not a thought in the world except for each other.”

“We’re selfish and cocky and stupid and we’ll be terrible parents.” Wooyoung says, pushing him off. San collapses onto the mattress and Wooyoung stands, and for a moment he thinks he's going to walk away.

“Yeah, we will. But we could have five, ten more years of being crazy and irresponsible and stupid and obsessed with each other to make us even worse parents by the time we get there.”

Instead of walking out, Wooyoung drops his pants to the ground. He steps out of his briefs until he's wearing nothing but a t-shirt, half-hard, gaze fixed on San in the bed. San lets his tongue dart out and wet his lips, heart racing. Wooyoung is so pretty.

“We are kind of obsessed with each other." His body is cumbersome, but Wooyoung manages a lumbering crawl until he's over San, looking down at him with those beautiful eyes, his fingers drifting over San's waistband. "Imagine what life would be like for a kid who gets brought up around so much love.”

Pinned between Wooyoung’s thighs, prone on his back, San gives up on the game of push and pull and cranes up  to kiss him. Blocked by nearly seven months of baby bump, it's impossible to reach. Instead, Wooyoung grins, pushing him onto his back and back against the headboard.

Shimmying out of his underwear with one hand, exploring with the other, he guides Wooyoung's hand to help him prep himself. Once ready, Wooyoung leans one hand against the wall, the other guiding San's hand to guide his cock into position. San props up his chest as he slowly bears down, thighs shaking with the extra weight, eyes fluttering closed and lips wet and open as he gasps with the pressure and sudden fullness.

San, against the pillows, jerks his hips up, holding Wooyoung with both hands to guide his thrusts and take some of the pressure off, the rolling pressure up and down of Wooyoung's body on top of him. Wooyoung's stretched-out skin is so sensitive around his hips and lower belly, and San draws patterns on it with his hands, feeling every touch register deep in his core.

“I'm gonna make this kid a twin.”

“Don’t even joke about that.” Wooyoung gasps, breathless and panting from the weight and the feeling and the pressure on his lungs. The straining muscles in his thighs temporarily give out, thrusting San's cock all the way inside him. Wooyoung almost screams with the sensation, holding it in, tremors of overstimulation running through his body, like he couldn't move if he'd wanted to. They're like teenagers again, wound up and touch-obsessed and coming unevenly in short bursts.

"Back." San decides, flipping them over, and Wooyoung's shoulders hit the mattress in a way that causes a shadow of concern to flicker across his face, but he quickly resigns to the increased comfort of being prostate with San between his thighs. One hand holds San's face close to his, syncing their breathing together. The other rubs at a swollen nipple, eliciting a gasp, which San stifles with a kiss.

“I’m fucking crazy for you.” Wooyoung sighs on a deep exhale.

“You’re so goddamn sexy. Swollen ankles to swollen tits to your beautiful fucking eyes.”

Wooyoung has bedroom eyes when he's like this. Heavy lids, feathered lashes, fucked out and full of trust.

“We're having the luckiest, most beautiful baby in the world with the sexiest parents in the universe.”

"We'll be okay." 

"Yeah, San. We have to be." 

He exhales through his teeth and into a beautiful smile, choking back a moan, and San sees galaxies.

 

 

 

 

"Tiny beds!" San squeals, then bypasses the tiny beds in favor of a massive bin of oversized jungle animal plushies. Wooyoung shuffles heavily behind, smiling lovingly, to steer San back in the direction of baby furniture.

At 34 weeks, Wooyoung doesn't ordinarily walk around this much, particularly not on solid concrete, and they've all heard plenty of complaints since the morning about how sore his ankles are and how this baby feels like a rock on his pelvis. But it's been almost a month since a decision was reached and since then Wooyoung hasn't even entertained the notion of giving it away, at least not aloud.

San didn't realize it before, but he's relieved. In the same way a coin flip reveals the right choice before it even hits the ground, San's new gut feeling of security tells him that this is what he always wanted, but was too afraid to say. This weird little family that they make up, two dumb kids and a baby on the way, spending off days in sweatshirts watching youtube videos about breathing exercises and pressure points for heartburn and third trimester sex positions. The rest of the time is spent with work and trying to convince themselves that they can become homemakers in the next six weeks before the baby comes, no matter how hopeless it may seem.

Ikea has a checklist of things new parents might need, though, for people like San and Wooyoung who are unprepared and have no clue where to start, and so for the next few hours things are looking up.

They're here because of Seonghwa and Hongjoong, who in a moment that would go down in history as "one of the most badass and legendary things anyone in our friend group has ever done", according to Yunho, broke their bed while having sex on it. So Seonghwa and Hongjoong rented a van to buy a new bed frame and asked if anyone needed anything at Ikea. Wooyoung and San took the opportunity to shop for a crib and any other baby furniture. Jongho added in that he could use a desk chair. Yeosang then decided to look for a TV stand. And Mingi and Yunho ended up tagging along, because of Swedish meatballs and fear of missing out.

"Pink sheets or blue?" Yeosang asks, trying to help with the list, and Wooyoung looks at San, who rolls his eyes.

"He wants to be 'surprised'. Our baby is apparently a Kinder egg and not a person."

"Everything is gonna be orange anyways." Wooyoung argues from a display chair, taking a load off his feet. "But I think it's a girl."

"How do you know?" Yunho sounds genuinely curious. 

"Just an aura."

"Listen to him, an 'aura'." Mingi says. "I'll bet you ten thousand won that it's a boy."

Wooyoung scoffs. "Unbelievable. I can't believe you're out here turning my baby into your own personal lottery."

"Fine, then. Ten thousand that Wooyoung is wrong."

And Wooyoung can't help but laugh.

 

On the other side of the room, while Seonghwa inquires about the weight limit on the KVALFJORD, and what would happen if two sixty kilogram adults were to… say, _jump_ on it, Hongjoong lets his eyes wander over to the children's department.

The store employee is going through the checklist and pointing out where everything is. San has his arms around Wooyoung, leaning his head on his shoulder, his hands folded over Wooyoung's belly. Wooyoung is listening intently. San just looks kind of peaceful, draped over his boy and probably daydreaming about putting his son or daughter in one of those tiny beds. Holding it in his arms, the little bundle of softness, a baby with his nose and Seonghwa’s eyes and-

"Don't even think about it. Joong, I can literally see you thinking about it."

Hongjoong shakes himself out of his thoughts, huffing up at Seonghwa. He’s got that knowing look on his face, but in good humor. There’s a twinkle in his eyes. "They're just cute together, you know? They look so happy."

"We have so much sex we broke through solid wood and you're out here thinking about kids?" Seonghwa shakes his head with a laugh. "They are cute, though."

"Think they'll be good parents?" Hongjoong asks. Seonghwa loops his arms around his waist, pressing his lips to the back of his head.

"Fuck no."

"God save the kid that has to be raised by those two idiots." Across the children's department, San whips Wooyoung across the back of the head with a giant plush elephant. A good-natured pillow fight quickly devolves, with high-pitched giggles and San's squeaks of laughter, a protective arm held over their baby at all times.

"It'll be the luckiest kid alive."

 


End file.
